Talcott is quiet for a long moment after that, processing what was said, giving Izunia a moment, comparing all of this information to the scraps that he and Ignis had managed to scrape together. Then contrasting that with what little information he had from the game developers. So much conflicting information and he had no idea what was true and what was the variation of another world. And if he and the others could go home if they died didn't that mean there was more truth to their worlds than the fiction they were fed, other people and characters that are deeper and more complex than the writers allowed for.

People like Izunia whose story was never written but is here and suffering all the same.

It takes Tal a moment to contemplate whether or not it's really proper but the redhead had said himself that he was retired, a king no longer. So he sets aside his coffee, the soft click of the cup against the table, a brief scrape as he stands from his chair. Two dragging, booted footsteps and then, Talcott just leans over and wraps his arms around Izunia's shoulders. Nothing he can say will even begin to help a hurt that deep but sometimes knowing you're not alone is enough.

He hates the fact that he can't feel it but that doesn't change the intent behind it.

"I'm sorry." What else could he possibly say to that.